


just wanna be yours

by apareciums



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9254060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apareciums/pseuds/apareciums
Summary: Thomas says they're not allowed to flirt with customers. Minho's never been a stickler for rules.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayora/gifts).



> to the park puppy to my wang puppy:
> 
> i hope i did your prompt some sort of justice..... thank you for doing this little exchange with me ;o; one day i'll write also you the jy/jk fic of our dreams (as if i don't already have some wip started oops) <3

Minho is only twenty and he already knows that working is going to be the bane of his existence. The sheer thought of knowing that he’s probably going to be working for the rest of his life, unappreciated and underpaid, settles uncomfortably in his chest. But hey, capitalism sucks and people have to make a living somehow. As a poor university student who’s barely paying his rent on time, that means getting a part-time job at a local coffee shop. 

It’s not all that bad, he tries to reason. 

There are perks to the job--free coffee and pastries galore. Minho’s consumed so much coffee since working here, pulling all nighters to write his papers came as easy as one, two, three. But all good things come to an end, and after a hilariously (it was _not_ funny, Thomas argues) tragic episode one afternoon, Minho’s caffeine high and sleep deprived state manages to break about half their ceramics, almost brings in the fire department, and nearly sends Frypan to the emergency room.

Addiction to caffeine is not great, 10/10 Minho would not recommend. Coffee has fucked him over so hard. Needless to say, Thomas bans Minho from taking more than one cup of coffee a day. _And no espresso shots,_ Thomas warns every employee while Minho glares at him with obvious disdain, middle fingers up because best friend perks are everything. 

It’s torturous and inhumane; the withdrawal is so real that Minho’s fingers itch constantly. Who willingly takes away a university student’s one and only source of stability? Thomas will rue the day he turned Minho’s life upside down. 

Except it’s not Thomas who ruins it, actually. Sure, Minho’s incurred a terrible addiction to caffeine during his employment, but Thomas is only helping as a dear friend, he understands that. 

No, the end of his life starts more like this:

It’s a busy late afternoon when Minho sees him. 

The little sign outside their shop says, “Our coffee is an experience that chalk is unable to convey. Happy Hour from 4pm-6pm!”. Pretty funny, Thomas probably thinks even though Minho begs to differ. Minho considers writing ‘plz don’t come’ in big block letters, but Thomas will fire him, surely unable to use his best friend card again after the initial fiasco. 

After making the twelfth latte within the hour, Minho robotically turns to the next customer, a bored and rehearsed ‘Hello, how may I fucking help you’ on the tip of his tongue, but the words die in his mouth when he sees the sight in front of him.

Long blond hair curls soft around the man’s small face, and he’s dressed in this ridiculous hipster get up--red scarf, baggy denim jacket, a goddamn beanie to top it off. Minho can’t even make fun of him because he looks so good, and if Minho doesn’t have a witty comment prepared for someone, that means he must be really floored.

He’s taking his time looking at the menu above, his indecisive ass holding up the line, but Minho can’t even be angry.

Conversation comes easy, though. Now Minho isn’t the most elegant speaker; his words carry more heart and feeling, so sometimes he unintentionally comes off gruff and blunt. To others, he’s wildfire--full of raging, unextinguishable energy and so, so bright, people are naturally drawn to him like he’s the North Star. To his friends, Minho’s sarcasm and teasing remarks are shows of affection. Because if there’s anyone who loves his friends so desperately, it’s Minho. 

With a slight nod to himself, the man turns to Minho, arms resting on the countertop and says, “Could I get a grande caramel vanilla latte?”

“Absolutely, sir. One vanilla latte for the man who’s as sweet as his drink.” Frypan lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh from a few feet away and Minho thinks about throwing the Sharpie at him. Ignoring Frypan seems like a better act of retaliation. 

A small laughter rings through Minho’s ears and he’s never felt so fucking blessed. “I think you’re mistaken.” 

Minho leans forward as well, arms folded on top of the wooden counter. No, of course he isn’t flexing. Please. “Prove me wrong.” 

What Minho doesn’t prepare for is the man reaching over the counter, plucking the cup and Sharpie out of his hands with the utmost delicacy. Writing something on the cup, he hands it back to Minho. 

“The name’s Newt.” 

 

 

 

Ranking the best moments in his life comes easy to Minho. At number one, his birth is a blessing to all and deserves to be at the top. Winning gold during the nationwide cross country meet comes second and is such a dear memory, Minho keeps the feeling extra close to his heart. There are many significant events throughout his life and somewhere between all the mundane moments, Newt manages to slip between the cracks and tear a huge hole in his heart.

What started out as mindless, fun flirting, transforms into a sickening show of over dramatized affection that earns more eye rolls and sneering from his co-workers than Minho can imagine. 

“Hey, babe,” Newt greets, casual and with a wave. As he bounces towards the register, the red scarf begins to loosen around his neck. Under the harsh fluorescent light, the cold paints his nose and ears a pretty cherry red. 

“Hey, darling,” Minho grins from behind the counter. Nearby, Frypan gags and Minho throws the wet cloth at him. “I already made your drink. Extra hot. Just like you.”

Reaching a little over to the left, Minho grabs the cup and presents it with an exaggerated wink. Newt looks mildly impressed and flattered all at once. 

“This is a new development in our relationship,” Newt comments, grabbing the drink, but not before blowing multiple kisses in his general direction. Minho catches them and puts them in his pocket for later. “Remembering my coffee order, I mean.”

Minho snorts and waves his hand with a slight dismissal. “Dare I forget when you’ve been coming here for weeks and ordering the same cavity-induced concoction.” 

“Just because you’re banned from coffee, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the wide variety of flavours it offers me.”

God, Newt’s so hot when he throws Minho under the bus. 

Trying to look affronted, Minho clutches his chest. “You can’t diss me like this. I gave you a free cup of coffee. I deserve endless praise.”

There are eyes and ears everywhere, so Minho should’ve saw this coming. He feigns a pained reaction when he feels a whack against his head. “What did I say about giving out free drinks?” 

Newt puts his hands up in the air and shakes a finger at Minho accusingly. Then, he throws Thomas a suffering look. “I wanted to pay for it, Thomas, but you know how Minho won’t take my money.” 

“Yeah, I know. I was there when Minho wrestled the five dollars into your shirt,” Thomas replies dryly, making sure to give Minho the most unimpressed stare. 

“Hey, it’s technically not free. I paid for it out of my own pocket,” Minho clarifies with a shrug. 

Newt leans his weight onto one of his legs, a hand ruffling his hair, and Minho tries not to be too bothered by how it accentuates his height. Tapping on his drink with much fervour, Newt says, “Thank you, though, Minho.” A second later, he glances at his watch and swears. “Ugh, I’m late for a meeting but I’ll see you tomorrow, love ya!” 

Before Minho can reply, Newt picks up his bag as quickly as he uttered his last words, waves a salute, and walks out the door. 

“What’s gotten you into a daze?” Frypan opens the back door carrying a tray of fresh pastries. The smell of baked goods wafts through the store, earning a couple of curious glances from customers. Trust Frypan and his art of patisserie. Minho swears loyalty to Frypan’s pastries, and Thomas pretends to be offended but they both agree that Frypan’s talent in patisserie deserves to be in the Museum of Modern Art. 

“I’m in love,” Minho states, eyes fluttering wildly. Playing around with the idea is one thing, but realizing has Minho knees deep under water. 

“What?” Frypan inquires, more out of courtesy than anything since he’s too engrossed in refilling the display with the pastries. 

“Newt,” Minho sighs, his back hitting the fridge with a solid thud. He tries to swipe a danish from under Frypan’s nose to cope with his heart attack, and almost succeeds until Frypan swats his hands away with a warning glare. “He’s saying all this gunky shit and then walks away as if he isn’t the reason for my daily near-death experiences.” 

“Stop talking about your non-existent love life.” Thomas emerges out of the employee doors with a cart full of coffee beans and almost runs over Minho’s foot in the process. Luckily, Minho has cat-like reflexes so he jumps out of the cart’s way and glowers at his boss.

“You mean that blond kid?” 

“He isn’t just blond,” Minho comments intelligently, earning a sideways glance from Frypan and a long, exhausted sigh from Thomas. Pen to his lips, Minho attempts to look deep in thought. “The colour of his hair is like the golden glow from an angel’s halo. Hand picked by God himself. If Rapunzel was reincarnated, she would take the form of Newt.” 

“Do you ever stop talking,” Thomas pleads, more to himself, and rubs at his head in annoyance. Opening the cupboards, he quickly places the ground beans inside. 

“I’m serious. If hair could talk, Thomas, Newt’s hair would be singing me sweet melodies.”

“Are you guys together?” Frypan decides to change the topic. 

He’s about to make another drink when Minho pauses and frowns at the question. 

Somewhere between being strangers and friends, Minho’s not too sure when the lines start to blur and how much he thinks about maybe wanting something _more_. 

Well, if only Newt will only make their relationship official. 

Except Minho’s positive Newt _knows_ of his little (huge, Thomas corrects) crush. Subtlety isn’t Minho’s greatest forte. To be quite honest, Minho doesn’t think it’s Newt’s either. Newt's trying to let him down gently by feigning ignorance, only partaking in mindless fun flirting, or he's going to carefully evade the matter until it drives Minho up the wall. 

Now, there may be a strict policy where employees aren’t allowed to flirt with customers, Thomas definitely gave him a whooping about it before, but rules are made to be broken (by yours truly) and Minho milks every second of it. 

Shameless and I Don’t Give a Fuck is Minho’s middle name and man, is he ever true to it. Compliments fall so easy with a quick roll of his tongue, and he doesn’t know when things start to change, but Newt begins to indulge him by being playful right back. What started as innocent flirting and pet names evolved into having hour long conversations about their day and getting caught up in each other’s lives. 

They fall into an easy pattern of friendship and Minho finds it interesting how Newt manages to have Minho open up. 

Whatever sick game they’re playing isn’t funny, Minho whines to no one in particular. He just wants to take Newt out on cute dates and boyfriend the fuck out of him. Why Newt is making this harder than it is, Minho will never understand. 

Moving towards the pile of dishes in the sink, Minho tries to be busy in an attempt to distract himself. A few seconds later, Minho mutters the only thing he can make sense out of this situation. 

“We’re just friends.” 

 

 

 

True to the last few weeks, Newt continues to show up at the cafe. 

Not true to the past few weeks, Minho becomes avoidant of these visits. 

It’s scary when you’re bordering on a thin line, and Minho’s afraid of fucking things up before he can properly collect his thoughts. 

Cue Plan A: Avoid feelings altogether. 

They’re not a busy coffee shop, by all means. There are times when the line never seems to end, but there’s enough time between rush hour that allows Minho to fuck off and avoid his life.

Like now, for instance.

Thomas opens the employee door and solemnly glances at Minho laying face down on the couch. “You’re supposed to be manning the cash register.”

“I’m having an existential crisis, asshole.” 

“Well, have that later. Newt’s asking for you.” 

Minho’s body shoots up, mind in a rampage. “Fuck. Tell him I moved to Canada or something.” 

Thomas sighs, takes a quick peek outside and closes the door behind him. “I know you’re emotionally constipated but seriously, I’m not paying you to avoid responsibilities. This goes for your job and Newt.” 

It’s not that Minho wants to avoid Newt. Talking to Newt has always been the highlight of his day. Rather, he’s wallowing in self-pity because Minho doesn’t know how to deal with feelings very well. 

Sure, he’s got a loud mouth and always has a blunt remark handy, but voicing his opinions is a completely different matter altogether. No, this time, he has to deal with expressing those butterflies-in-his-stomach feelings, the woodpecker chipping away at his heart, the whole shabang, and Minho doesn’t trust himself to explain that as sincerely as he wants to.

He falls back face first into the cushions. “I’m going to fuck up.”

Cautiously, Thomas tiptoes towards him and starts to rub awkward, soothing circles on his back. Minho almost wants to shake him off but he’s too drained to even move. “You’ll be fine. Just be the same annoying, shameless you from the past few weeks. Newt likes it.”

“He doesn’t like like me.”

“Are you in high school?” Thomas laughs. “How do you know? Have you asked him that?”

Sitting up and shifting around to get a better look at Thomas, Minho’s brows wrinkle. Good point. “Well, no. But who even takes these fake relationships seriously? I have to fake break up my fake relationship with him before he does it first.”

Thomas crosses his arms and bumps his shoulder against Minho’s. “Maybe you need to see things from more than one perspective.” 

“I don’t speak cryptic bullshit,” Minho deadpans, leaning forward so that his elbows rest on his thighs. One of his arms slide off and he starts picking at the dirt on the floor. Hygiene is the least of his concern when he’s mourning.

Thomas rolls his eyes and gets up. “Maybe instead of feeling sorry for yourself and having tunnel vision, you should also consider how Newt feels about the situation.”

Minho mulls over the thought for awhile and nods in understanding. 

“Great. Now go get him before I fire you,” Thomas encourages. His threat gets lost because no one wants to tell Thomas that he’s a sucker for Minho. With one quick shove, Thomas pushes him out the door. 

There’s no time to even think about what he wants to say because Newt stands before him, as ethereal as ever while he busies himself with his phone. 

“Newt,” Minho says. It feels like lightning struck his nerves and now he’s running on pure adrenaline.

Newt looks up and his face visibly brightens, eyes crinkling. Minho can see Newt fidgeting, he opens his mouth but closes it again, unsure of how to begin. Finally, Newt settles on, “Hey, I missed you. How have you been?” 

Minho takes a deep breath and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He’s trying really hard to look at Newt in the eye, but chooses to focus on the light fixture to the side. “Dandy. I was… visiting family in… Canada. Y’know, yeah.” Let’s forget the fact he doesn’t fucking know anybody in Canada. 

“Canada?” Newt cocks his head, lips pursed in thought. Spending a few seconds mulling it over, he lets out a laugh. “I thought we told each other a lot of things. You didn’t tell me you had relatives in Canada, love.” 

And the nickname comes out so easily for Newt, Minho staggers a bit and the electric adrenaline before is replaced with pure nerves. “Let’s… stop all this,” he gestures between the two of them and Newt’s face falls. Fuck, that’s not how he wanted this to go at all. 

“ _What?_ ” Newt’s laughter is forced, pained, and in disbelief. “Don’t dish what you can’t take, Minho.”

Once Minho gets started, his mouth is like an unfiltered mess. “Yeah, well, I say it because I actually really like you.”

If silence could kill, Newt’s sudden quietness at the confession destroys him. The stare he’s getting from Newt is so intense, Minho has to break eye contact. Instead of focusing at the situation on hand, he pretends to clean the espresso machine with the dish cloth. 

“Minho--”

“I know,” Minho interrupts, throwing the cloth into the sink. He takes a huge breath and starts word vomiting. “It was all in good fun, I shouldn’t have taken it seriously and you don’t actually--Ow!” 

When he glances up, Newt’s holding the other half of the cookie he chucked at Minho’s head. 

“That’s five dollars you know,” Minho says, all matter of fact, brushing the crumbs off his shoulder. To be honest, he’s mostly offended at the fact that it’s wasted food now. “Frypan’s going to kill you for ‘disrespecting’ his baked goods.” 

“Go on a date with me.”

“What am I supposed to tell him--Wait, what?” Minho almost slips trying to move closer to Newt, because maybe he’s hearing wrong, but the attempt falls short because the counter is blocking them. 

Putting on his hands on his hips, Newt sighs. “Do you think I visit an overpriced coffee shop for coffee?” Minho nods frantically, still not believing the turn of events, and Newt groans. “Bloody hell. I like you. I like our conversations. You’re charming, witty and I hope your over-confidence ruins you one day. I’m here for you. Always for that reason.” 

“So, wait--You actually like, _like_ me?” Minho asks, incredulous, as if he can’t believe it’s even possible, so he blinks a couple of times and pinches himself for good measure. 

“Yeah, you moron.” Newt rolls his eyes extra hard and Minho is so, so happy, he jumps over the counter and knocks over a gift card stand. Frypan cries out a, _Can’t you walk around the counter like any sane person?_

“I don’t willingly let people flirt with me if I’m not interested in them back,” Newt says, all matter of fact.

Minho takes a several confident steps towards Newt. When he’s standing in front, toes meeting toes, Minho snakes an arm around Newt’s waist and pulls him in. Even though Newt’s tall, he feels so small and right in his arms.

“Will you allow me the honour of courting you,” Minho asks, lighthearted tone mirroring the way his heart feels like it’s soaring. 

Newt slides his hands up Minho’s arms and looks at him fondly. Minho meets his gaze with a smile. “You could pretend to look a little less thirsty.”

“Shameless is my middle name, don’t you know?”

 

 

 

Life throws many forks and curves in the road and Minho thinks he’s done a pretty good job at pretending like he knows what he’s doing.

Classes are still a blur, and Minho’s convinced university is an elaborate scheme to put young adults into crippling debt, but at least he’s passing all of them and that’s all Minho could want. His job still sucks, but he’s surrounded by a good supportive team who deals with all of Minho’s dramatic shit, so he can honestly say he’s truly blessed to be working with them. Thomas still won’t give him coffee but Minho doesn’t need it. Not when he has his own pick me up. 

“Hey, babe. Ready to go?” Newt rushes in, flushed and out of breath. He leans over the counter and pulls Minho in by the apron for a quick peck. Minho melts into it.

“What did I say about kissing?” Thomas says, waving a silver spoon at them threateningly. “You two are insufferable. What do you even see in him?”

Minho takes this opportunity to flex both arms and Newt even starts to poke them in mock amazement. “Besides my dashing good looks?”

“Knock it off, you beef cake,” Thomas deadpans.

Newt laughs and carefully smooths over his boyfriend’s shirt. “Honestly? The free coffee.” 

Thomas looks absolutely scandalized. “What did I tell you, Minho! No more free coffee!” 

The both of them laugh out loud as Thomas chases Minho around with the spoon. Newt is left unscathed because Thomas actually likes him and Minho whines, calling it favouritism. _It’s because you’re a shithead,_ Newt explains one time, intertwining their fingers and Minho scoffs but tightens the grip.

When Thomas finally gets Minho into a headlock, Minho turns to Newt with pleading eyes. Instead of helping, Newt observes from the sidelines, smile fond and soft. Minho takes in the time to notice the way one corner of Newt’s lips curve more on one side ever so slightly; how it reaches his eyes and accentuates how bright it twinkles. So pretty and elegant, it puts every star to shame. 

Even though Minho may hate working, it definitely gets him into some pretty fantastic situations.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been meaning to write minewt for the longest time wahh throw me into fire  
> pls love them like they lov e ea ch other unc ondtiona lly ;;
> 
> as always, thank you j for all the betaing you do for me, what would i do without ya


End file.
